


Can't We Just Talk

by irolltwenties (Shenanigans)



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: AU Fic, Complete, Firefly AU, Ish?? - Freeform, M/M, Prompt Fill, alex and isobel gives me LIFE, alex manes appreciation week prompt 1 fill, because reasons, brief mentions of Wyatt Long getting his ass kicked at pool, competent!alex, handwaving at canon, heavily implied sex, okay now there's two tops sitting in a booth, there's astronauts in part two, this fic is decidedly sad??, yeah... it surprised the shit outta me too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2020-02-26 14:36:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18719053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shenanigans/pseuds/irolltwenties
Summary: written for the Alex Manes Appreciation Week 2019A series of ficlets based on the following prompts:Day 1: Dreaming with a broken heart….Day 2: Alternate Universe (AU)Day 3: Alex interacting with others he hasn’t yet. (ie Max, his mom, Sheriff, etc)Day 4: Alien shenanigansDay 5: Canon, canon divergence, what-ifs, fix-itsDay 6: Crossovers, fusions, other fandoms (ie Alex at Hogwarts or a hunter in SPN)Day 7: Futurefic





	1. Chapter 1

Prompt 1 Dreaming with a broken heart:

 

There’s something slippery about Michael’s smile and Alex is determined not to trip. He’s sitting in the back booth, nursing a beer while Michael leans over the pool table, shoulders, hands, and cue stick making a perfect isosceles triangle as he lines up the shot. Alex has been watching him hustle Wyatt Long for the last fifteen minutes. He’s meticulously peeling the label away from the glass, fingers wet and a little tacky from the glue. There’s amber light on Michael’s curls and it’s catching a little on the dark stubble on his jaw. His shirt is half unbuttoned like he was too busy thinking about what he was doing next to be bothered with something as mundane as dressing himself properly.

Alex thinks about what it would be like to slip his hand just inside the collar of that flannel, the way it caught heat close to his skin and the tickle of chest hair under his palm. He thinks about the way Michael always rocked his head back a little when he was touched like he was physically restraining himself from pushing into it with a simmering hunger. 

It never lasted- _restraint_.

There’s a crack of cue ball on stripes and Alex blinks first. He shakes his head slightly, wetting his lips and tapping his finger against the bottleneck, feeling the cool brown glass. He watches the way Michael smiles, cocky and smug as he leans up, fingers easy as he strokes the stick. Alex watches the way he looks around, tossing Maria a wink where she watches and then inevitably he’s turning to where Alex is sitting in the blue neon. Alex looks down sharply. He knows he’d get caught in the breathless triumph, the way Michael’s face lit up when he was happy, when he was winning. He knew that if he looked they’d lock eyes and he’d have to feel it like a physical touch, stroking over his mouth and down his neck. He’d answer back, flickering to where Michael’s lips dropped open on a rough breath.

He knew that stuttered sound, heard it echo in his dreams when he woke up hard and aching, hips moving in a frustrated push against his sheets. He knew it because he searched his memories for it when he groaned into giving up, grabbing himself and stroking in quick rough pulls. He tried to keep it perfunctory, eyes closed and gritting his teeth around the way he needed. He hated that it was still Guerin’s name he growled when he came. He hated that he was pretty sure it always would be.

“Jesus, Guerin, take your damn shot already. Stop fucking showboating.”

And the heat was gone, like the sun slipping behind a cloud. Alex could look up again, seeing the way Michael tilted into turning like he was always dancing, just a little shuffle that kept him looking slinky and liquid under that insouciant smile. He watched the way Michael’s head cocked, eyeing the angles of the shot. He watched the way he chalked the tip of the cue and then bent, back a broad plane over the way his jeans hugged the curve of his ass, strong thighs and tight around his calves. 

Alex had to physically restrain himself from making a sound as the image of pushing his palm to the back of his neck, fingers touching at the soft edge of his curls- feeling the way they were skin warm and tickling the back of his hand- and pushing him face down on the felt. He knew what Michael sounded like when he squeezed, thumb working a soft line against the tendon there. He knew how his eyes rolled back just a little before they closed. He knew how he would go a little soft and pliant around the edges as Alex kicked out his ankles to settle between his thighs and bend over his back. He knew how Michael looked when he went _incandescent_ with want. He could taste the freckles on his shoulder under his teeth, punctuating them with short rough groans as he fucked _in_. Michael was molten, melting Alex into something feral and desperate.

It never cooled, this heat. _Not really_.

It changed him. It rearranged his molecules into something stronger, hammered hard and sharp by pain and need and lust. Alex looked away, swallowing around the way it still bubbled in his chest. He watched Maria watch Michael. He watched Michael glance up and catch his eye just past her shoulder in the mirror. He watched Michael sink the next shot, eyes liquid and dark in this light- not honey colored. His gaze like a secret. His gaze like a fist. Loving Michael hadn’t made him weak.

Losing him had.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 2: Alternate Universe (AU)

The entire console of the cockpit was blinking at him, nine primary alarms blaring with four secondary chirruping underneath. Whoever said you couldn’t scream in space had obviously never had something go horribly right on a trail run, because his baby was howling in pain. Captain Alex Manes was weightless, bouncing off the straps that crisscrossed over his chest, the flight suit wobbling around his body uneasily at the lack of Gravspin Functionality. He saw a bead of blood break off from his skin to bubble and float in a halfhearted sphere across the his vision.

“Cameron,” he started, voice breaking on the first syllable before he coughed, tasting blood and focused. He had to focus. “Cameron, come in. Copy?” There was silence on the line, just the white noise of static and nothingness. “Cameron? Control? _Anyone_? Do you copy?” He had a moment of blind welling panic that clawed up his chest and into his throat as he focused on the thick windows, watching the tilt of stars he didn’t recognize roil in an endless black. The control panel sparked and he shoved everything back down. 

Fire was bad. Fire was very _very_ bad.

Alex Manes was in trouble, lost somewhere in the dark of space with no one answering the comms and gravspin lost somewhere between home and the attempted maneuver that had folded him inside out and twisted him into somewhere _new_ and _not home_. He slapped the latch on his restraint, floating up and to the left with the movement, starting to spin as he clumsily counterbalanced in the zero g. He managed to fumble gloved fingers around the fire suppressant foam, watching it ooze out and coat the console, sparks deadening and disappearing. He blew out a breath, turning to look for his Lieutenant.

He managed to throw himself out of the main navigation cockpit and down the hatch for engineering, pulling his arms and legs tight to arrow down the tight passage. “Liz? You there?”

There was a crackle on comms and he swore violently, proficiently, and with force. “Ortecho! Report!” He snagged the handle outside the engineering bay and turned his momentum easily to fling himself through the door, finding it a swirling mess of tools floating in space and 1st Lt Elizabeth Ortecho still strapped into her seat, floating bonelessly. He caught her with one quick bound, hands working to pull her head up, then her arm to tap out her vitals on the read screen. They were holding steady. She was unconscious, not dead and he pressed the visor of his helmet to hers, sagging in a moment of barely contained relief. 

“Valenti!” He didn’t have time to be relieved for long, leaving Liz where she floated and moving towards medbay without a second thought. 

“That was the worst landing ever, Manes,” Valenti muttered, voice a faint whisper over the comms and Alex laughed with relief at the sound of his voice.

“Bitch me out later. We haven't landed yet,” he replied, flinging himself down the hallway to the far end of the ship. “Status?”

“Better be a later,” Kyle grumbled, swallowing audibly. “You know how I love to bitch.”

Alex was about to answer when the Proximity Alarms screamed over every other alarm, loud and blaring through his comms like a knife. He turned, breath catching in his throat at the sharp tug on his shoulder when he caught himself from the hard flight towards Kyle to a bone aching stop and then push back towards the cockpit. “Fuck fuck fuck _fuck_.”

“Is that-”

“Yes.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah. Buckle up. We’re going down.” Alex made it back to the front in time to see a planet roll into view, the nose of the ship starting to heat up with the friction of an atmosphere. He stared, eyes wide and sure of his fate when two ships- sleek and glowing, sexier than anything he’d ever imagined- shot past his view, firing at each other with some sort of space… lasers.

“Fuck, Kyle?”

“It can’t be worse.”

“It’s _worse_.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 3: Alex interacting with others he hasn’t yet. (ie Max, his mom, Sheriff, etc)

Alex felt the prickle of cold on the back of his neck that meant someone was watching him. He closed his eyes, snagging another fry off his plate and dipping it into his shake. He heard Isobel Evans before he saw her, the sauntering clack of heels precise on the tile like a swaying samba rhythm. If he was straight he’d be afraid.

“That’s gross,” she said, slipping into the booth across from him, nose crinkling slightly before she looked away, out over the Crashdown with pursed lips.

“Hi, Isobel. So nice to see you, Isobel. I’m fine, thank you for asking, Isobel.” He popped the fry into his mouth, chewing around a flat black look. 

She glanced over, rolling her eyes at him and straightened in a quick hip wiggle before tossing her hair back over her shoulder. “Yes, whatever, I’m so rude. It is known.” She stole a fry and he seriously considered stabbing her hand with a fork, but instead just leaned back, pushing the plate to the middle of the table with a wide general hand gesture that invited her to what she’d already been taking. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

She chewed, sucking her teeth daintily before cocking him a clear considering look. “I guess you’ve gotten handsome.”

“Thank you?”

“I mean,” she pursed her lips, propping an elbow on the table and dropping her chin on it. She had one of those perfect heart shaped faces with the dainty pert nose and rosebud mouth. He was half convinced she’d been genetically engineered to be distracting. Which, considering, could be possible. “You have shit taste, but he’s my brother.”

“I don’t like Max Evans.”

“Who’s talking about Max?” She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Just because he’s tall doesn’t mean he’s hot.” She smiled, sweet and sharp as the knife that drew blood before the cut was felt. “Although, I am tall too, so.” She shrugged.

“Michael.”

“Yes. Michael.”

“I don’t want to ta-”

“I”m sure you don’t but I could just walk into your brain and take it.” She took another fry before leaning over to frown a little at the shake and snagged some sriracha from the condiment corral next to the napkin dispenser.

“If you put that in my shake I will end you.”

“Scary. Okay, I see it a little now.” She squirted it on the plate, dipping a fry. She chewed thoughtfully and he just sighed, leaning back indolently and stretched an arm along the back of the booth and watched her expectantly. She narrowed her eyes at him, smirk going slippery and he pursed his lips, eyebrows flicking up in question as he tried not to visibly grind his teeth. “I need you to talk to him.”

“No.”

“Don’t mak-”

“Did I fucking stutter?” Alex leaned forward, eyes flashing at her as he tilted his head on a quick flash smile that didn’t show teeth. “I said no, Isobel.” Isobel’s frown was a spectacular crumble of face that simpered into something so crafted and calculated he had a moment to be nothing but impressed with her technique. “Still a no.”

Isobel sighed and turned to lean back into the booth, stretching her legs out to cross at the ankle as she got comfortable. “I know he’s an idiot. I’ve always known he’s an idiot. No one can be that smart and that kind and not be a fucking fool.” She wet her lips, pausing to reach up with a delicate finger to slide along the line of her lip gloss, keeping it tidy. “He’s a fucking mess of a-” she cut off with a roll of her eyes and slanted him a knowing look. “-Human being.”

Alex took a deep breath, drumming his fingers on the vinyl of the booth. He’d been studiously not going to the Pony. He’d been studiously buried in work on the files he’d decrypted on the drives. He’d been focused anywhere but at the place he was bleeding and here was Isobel Evans armed with lemons and salt. “What’s your point.”

She tilted her head at him, eyes going soft and face open in a way he’d never seen. It was a moment. They were having a moment. It felt like a truce. It felt like common purpose and a plan. “He’s too smart to realize he needs you.” She blew out a breath and Alex felt himself inhale in response. “And I need her.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 4: Alien shenanigans

Alex was staring. He was staring, mouth open, hands half raised in silent question exactly where he’d frozen on the spot. The bunker was always cool, caught underground and buried deep from the scorching New Mexico summer. He’d thought maybe Michael was napping. He’d thought maybe he’d gotten caught up in another long string of polymath that set his teeth on edge. He thought maybe- but here he was staring at where Michael was frowning bitterly at himself. “What?”

“I can explain.” Michael’s voice sounded smoother, some of the rougher edges fading fast as he spoke.

“What?” Alex blinked, a quick successive stutter as he processed. Michael winced slightly, watching the visible train of thought that had Alex flinching back and mouth finally quirking slightly in question. “What did-?” Alex cut off, covering his mouth and Michael didn’t miss the way his eyes flicked down and then back up to meet his gaze.

“I was trying to duplicate the ketone solution inside the pods after the cryo stasis ends. You know, the thing where it holds before it hit the gaseous state, but I miscalculated. I was trying to figure out if I could literally just reverse the-”

“You’re fucking 16 again!” Alex seemed to explode all at once, indignant and coiled as he took a quick step forward. There was a pause as Alex’s gaze seemed to press against him like a physical touch, confused even as he made an abortive move to touch Michael’s jaw. Alex’s face wavering between scared, concerned, irritated, and aroused in the space of seconds before settling on frustrated. “What the hell where you thinking?”

Michael tucked his lips over his teeth, scrunching his face up as he gestured vaguely. Alex blew out a breath and nodded, closing his eyes as he tipped his head back. He counted the small air bubbles in the cement ceiling before he rubbed a palm over his face. He paused there, nodding silently to himself before straightening in a quick snap and pointing at where Michael was hunching small. 

“I wasn’t?”

“Correct.”

Michael tossed him some awkward finger guns like a sad yeehaw and tilted to lean a hip against the table in the bunker. “But you know.” He sniffed, tonguing at his back molar and jerking his head towards the futon in the back corner. “While I’m here?” He shrugged, glancing back at Alex through his lashes with a small impish grin of invitation. “We could?”

“It wears off?” 

“I was seven three hours ago, so I’m gonna go with yeah?”

“You what?”

“Skip to the sex, babe.” Michael grinned, reaching out an easy hand to hook his fingers into the front of Alex’s shirt, tugging him close. “Less questions, more kissing.”

He was nodding and he knew the moment Alex just relented, nodding along with him and covering his wrist with warm fingers.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 5: Canon, canon divergence, what-ifs, fix-its

Mail is delivered sporadically once he’s outside Shahidi Hassas, but Alex never received much outside the occasional care package from the local Starbucks. He’s so used to letting his mind wander during role that he misses his name the first two time until Pogue smacks him on the back of the head and points at where Sergeant Grimmaldi is starting to growl.

He clambers to his feet, sure to use Pogue’s head as leverage and takes the battered envelope. It’s covered in mail delivery redirect notifications. He’s confused until he realizes there’s no stamp on it and his address is listed as the return address while the local Roswell Library is the intended Delivery. 

“You forgot to stamp it, Manes,” Sgt Grimmaldi muttered. “I should drop you for being a cheap fuck.”

Alex simply wet his lips and nodded, flipping the letter over to try and divine it’s secrets. He’d stopped writing anyone the moment his laptop had been issued; sleek and sexier than it had any right to be. He slapped at Pogue’s hand when he reached for the letter, darting outside the tent and into what felt like the face of the sun for a moment before his eyes adjusted. The envelope was simple and white, foxed edges taped a few times to keep it sealed like the sender knew the journey would be rough- like they’d planned it to be.

_Alex,_

_I thought about you today._

The handwriting was neat, nearly all caps in black ball point. He knew it. He inhaled sharply and looked around- sure he was alone so he could sit before his knees went out.

_You sparked fast and hot over my brain, it sizzled and all I could do was stare. It was an afterthought of joy._

_A firework on the fifth of July._

Alex swallowed hard and read it again. Again. Again. He closed his eyes and he could almost hear Michael’s voice again, so full of wonder- so full of pain.

He thought about finding him, chasing him to where he’d gone and tracking him down. He thought about retasking satellites but instead folded the letter up and tucked it in his front pocket. 

There was no return addresses on Guerin’s shitty Chevy.


	6. Take the Sky From Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 6: Crossovers, fusions, other fandoms Firefly AU

The job hadn’t ended as smoothly as he’d planned, Arizona kicking her feet up and refusing the payload after the hurried flight away from the Alliance Cruiser. He’d had to keep Michael from going off, trigger happy and ready to go guns blazing for their pay. Isobel simply inhaled slowly, eyes narrowing at where the other woman was grinning at her and nodded once. “That isn’t fair." 

"Life ain’t fair, Highness.” Arizona winked, tilting her head and chucking her chin to the doorway. 

“Wheel keeps spinning, Arizona,” Max reminded her, grabbing Michael by the shoulder and turning him out the door. 

“That only matters to the people on the rim!” Arizona’s voice faded behind them, the hallway going dark for a few steps before spitting them out into the chaos of the docks, the smell following quick on the heels of the noise. Michael swore violently in mandarin, kicking at the dirt and managing to rock the crates stacked delicately as defense and stormed ahead.

“What now, Max?” Isobel was giving him the look, the same one she’d given him when he’d agreed to take the job, the same look she’d given him when they’d darted to the haul under the Alliance’s watchful eye, and the same look she’d given him when he’d gotten ink on her Sunday dress before supper when they were 11. 

“I’ll figure it out.”

“You have a plan?”

“Yes." 

"Does it involve being shot by Cameron out on Whitefall again? Because I don’t like this plan.”

“You never like my plans.” He’d deserved it, being shot. He’d been trading favors for favors, business with pleasure and she’d kicked him off that back world moon without a second thought, gun trained on his backside as he hauled his pants and his pride back to the ship. Isobel had arched an annoyed and superior eyebrow at him as she slapped the button to close the docking airlock while Michael had simply laughed.

Michael wasn’t laughing now, glowering as he walked through the crowd, curls caught on the wind and shirt showing the heavy stains around the collar and the thighs of his coveralls nearly black with grease. “Max, we nee-”

“A new compression coil, I know.”

Michael widened his eyes, raising both hands as he gestured around the docks. “I _could_ just steal one.” 

“You get caught-” Max started, frown rolling over his face.

“No.” Isobel dropped the final say, shaking her head slightly as Michael rolled his eyes and dropped his head back on his shoulders like he was pleading with the sky for sanity.

“Compression coil busts and we’re dead in the water. We’re floating.” Michael was spitting the reasoning quick, eyes determined.

“Remember the last time you took something?” she reminded him gently, wetting her lips and tossing her hair back over her shoulder as Granalith came into view. 

She was a Firefly aught 3 class transport with the modified extenders. She was a snub nosed little thing, audacious in comparison to the hulking Brutus class crawlers and the sleeker pleasure cruiser nestled into the main docking hub. She perched like a wry bird, daring for the stars. Max felt himself relax slightly at the sight of her, the long curve of the engine tucked over the open docking bay where Maria was finishing up, collecting the folding chair and the dainty paper umbrella that kept her shaded as they approached. She smiled brightly, fading as Michael stormed past her, waving his mangled left hand back at Max and Isobel to show that he was fully capable of remembering what had happened last time too.

“Job didn’t go well, I take it?” Maria asked, shading her eyes and turning her cheek to Isobel’s kiss, letting her wife walk past and back to the cargo bay with quick strides of her boots as she watched Max punch the debarking code into the panel. 

“Is Alex back yet?” Max didn’t look up from where he was swiping his ident card.

“He’s on his way,” Maria answered, narrowing her eyes at Max for skipping over the question. “Should I tell him to hurry?”

“No.” Max sighed, running a hand through his hair and staring at the passengers that were mulling about inside, one girl with shiny dark hair huddled low to stare at the lit readout on a large environmentally stable cargo crate. “ _Someone_ needs to make an honest living.” The girl glanced over and Max felt his mouth go dry. She was stunning and a problem. “Liz.”

Maria grinned up at him, clapping once. She was entirely pleased with herself. “I know! We ran into each other while I was getting the fuel and supplies. We caught up and it turns out she’s just back, heading off planet for a bit! I couldn’t say no.” 

Liz Ortecho. Liz Ortecho was standing in his cargo bay with a small little smile as she tucked her hair behind her ear and watched him. It had been ten years, ten years since that night and he’d been sure that he’d never see her again.

Max Evans was a browncoat. He was pretty sure he was always going to be wrong. Of course, it also meant he didn’t know when to give up a fight- even when it was smiling sweetly across his hull at him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 7: Futurefic

Alex has finally stopped thinking about the kitchen as his. It’s theirs now. Michael has half of the closet, half the dresser, and all of his heart. It’s cheesy, but Alex allows himself the saccharine in his own thoughts now. It’s been five years since his father was murdered and nine since Rosa’s resurrection. They’d finally settled into a semblance of domesticity after the bomb incident and Alex had thought after a year and a half of quiet that maybe their lives were going to settle into something unhunted and unhurried. (He didn’t have any delusions about normal, not after the clones three and a half years ago.) A rest, he just wants a rest where he can settle into bed with Michael and simply be. Be himself, be with him, be together, be in love.

But, there’s a sixteen year old glaring at him from behind a pile of waffles at the other side of the kitchen table. The kid has black hair in lolling curls that clutter his brow, brown eyes that can’t decide if they’re dark or light, and a familiar sarcastic smile. Alex feels like he knows this kid. He’s familiar. He can smell the kid from where he is leaning a shoulder against the doorframe between the kitchen and the bedroom. The boy’s a nearly feral hunker of bony shoulders that’s hovering protectively over the plate in a battered jacket, sweat stained shirt, ripped jeans, and duct taped converse. Alex is pretty sure he’s going to burn those clothes and toss him into a shower as soon as possible, but there was a hierarchy to priorities. Food first, then shower. 

“You can stop staring. It’s creepy.” The kid managed to fold one of the top waffles in half and then half again, spearing it with his fork and shoving the whole dripping mess into his mouth. 

“You called me, man,” Michael muttered, putting a hand on the counter top and heaving to sit next to the sink. 

“Not on purpose.”

The kid frowns darkly around a ridiculous lump of waffle stuffed into his cheek. Alex been tempted to make him real pancakes, but he was pretty sure he could count ribs and the toaster waffles were faster and practical, full of sugar and covered with butter and syrup. 

Michael leans back against the cabinet, curls catching on the wood grain. He’s studying the kid with the same look of confusion and wary distrust the boy had tossed them when Michael had shoved him into a kitchen chair. It’s startling when the realization strikes, the same jawline, the same heavy lidded eyes, the same curls, the same wicked twist of mouth. This kid is a near match for Michael at 16, but the coloring is all wrong and the cheekbones too blocked, jaw hewn with a rougher squaring and nose-

“Shit.”

“Shit what?” Michael doesn’t look at where Alex has put it together, the line drawn tenuously from the kids curls to Michael. His husband is in a pair of jeans, a thin white cotton shirt, and the dust from the road. He’d shot up from a dead sleep, confusion pulling a headache out of him and then that specific faraway look that meant his family was talking to him or screaming for him or just needing him. Alex was almost able to tell the difference between Isobel and Max these days, but this morning was something different. Michael had pressed a hand into the covers and rolled to his feet, scrambling into a pair of jeans as he snagged his shirt from the hamper instead of a new one from the drawer. Alex hadn’t been fast enough to follow the scramble and instead started a pot of coffee and breakfast. 

Michael could take care of himself. He knew this from experience.

Alex flattened his mouth and tilted his head at Michael and could nearly feel the way the kid was matching his mannerisms flawlessly. He could feel the way they both flicked their eyebrows up at him.

“Oh shit.”

The kid looked between them both, pointing at Alex with the tines of his fork. “Epiphanies are best shared.”

“Who are you?” Michael asked, voice a low careful wary.

“Who the fuck are you?” The kid snapped back, making a quick annoyed face and then shoving another whole waffle in his mouth like he was afraid they’d disappear.

“I could ju-”

“Guerin.” Alex shook his head slightly and Michael relaxed back against the cabinet from where he’d prickled.

“I could. It’d be easier.”

“True.” Alex nodded and sipped his coffee from where he’d been holding it with both hands to keep from fidgeting anxiously. “Got a name?”

“Mind your own,” the kid muttered and Alex knew that glare intimately, the smug flat sass of it and he hid the smile behind the lip of his mug. 

“Don’t remember, do you?”

The kid narrowed his eyes at where Alex was standing, still eating his weight in waffles without pause. He replied something unintelligible around the chewed bite.

“Woke up in the desert? Or somewhere else. What pulled you here?”

“Nothing pulled me here. I chose it.”

“Liar.”

The kid turned and stuck his tongue out at Michael in a display of his age and Alex cleared his throat when his husband made the face right back at the kid. “Not lying. I read about it when I was hitching out in Idaho. Seemed like the right place to be. People who don’t know who they are seem to end up here.”

“So you just ended up outside the abandoned military comp-”

“I told you I didn’t fucking know that anything was there!” The kid set the fork down and the table started rattling, the cups and plates in the cabinets starting the vibrant dance of anger made tangible. 

“I believe you,” Alex said, voice quiet and low, the same soothing tone he’d used on Michael when they were teens. The kid blinked and the plates settled with a clatter back to silent.

“I just… this feels like it’s where I’m supposed to be.” The silence filled the kitchen, curling up and settling at his feet the way Wentz had when she was a puppy. The silence was fraught, full of the kind of tension he’d thought they were moving past- full of the promise of complications. The kid’s black curls were trembling, the bruises brighter on his skin. Alex could count the scars, the visible one that curled delicately over his brow and across his eyebrow and then over his cheek. He could see the ones on his skinny wrists, the cracked knuckles. This kid was lost. The boy went achingly terrified, open and wet eyed as he stared at the table top. “Don’t… don’t make me leave.” 

Michael was looking at him, he could feel it. He could feel the look on his face the same way he could feel the touch of him in the back of his mind, under his skin. “I think you found what you were looking for.”

Alex nodded once, swallowing around the way his throat went tight and held Michael’s gaze before looking back to the kid. The kid that had Michael’s curls and his eyes. The kid that shouldn’t exist. 

“Eat up. I’ll start some bacon.” He looked over at Michael. “Call Max and Iz. Hell, get the squad.”

“Can I have a waffle first?”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a ridiculous nerd bird and you can flail with me on [tumblr](http://irolltwenties.tumblr.com).
> 
> None of these were beta-ed because I wrote them directly into the tumblr post like a jerk.


End file.
